


Ambrosia

by Not_You



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Hannibal, Asexuality, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Everybody Lives, F/M, Flash Forward, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Relationship Negotiation, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, non-repulsed ace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-24 21:06:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6166876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal thought that he would just be quietly in love with his heterosexual friend forever.  That was before Alana showed up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The rhythmic rocking of the bed wakes Hannibal gradually, a slow, syrupy ascent to consciousness. He doesn't have to open his eyes to know that the room is flooded with late-morning sunlight. It glows red through his eyelids, and the warmth of it lies heavy on the bed, which is rocking faster now as Alana voices each exhale and Will moans quietly.

He sighs. “Decent people are trying to sleep, you know.”

Will laughs, breathless. “Well, that lets you out.” 

Alana giggles and then cries out, and Hannibal opens his eyes to watch as Will speeds up, hands planted on the mattress as he fucks Alana harder, in long, rolling thrusts. Hannibal smiles, and crawls over to kiss Alana's slack mouth, making a low, purring noise in his throat as he enjoys the taste of her. Will chuckles, gripping the back of Hannibal's neck for a moment, a rough, casual caress like he gives the dogs. 

Hannibal lets out a hum of contentment, nuzzling the side of Alana's neck and then biting, sighing through his nose at the feel of her pulse between his teeth. She had both arms around Will, but lets go with one to sink her nails into Hannibal's upper back in that way that feels so nice. He shivers, nuzzling into the hollow of her throat and breathing in the scent of her skin, feeling her heartbeat and her rapid respiration. He can't bear to give that up when he kisses her again, and rests his palm on her throat, his thumb stroking her skin as she moans into his mouth and Will groans, knocking the headboard against the wall as his hips start to stutter. 

Hannibal tears himself away to watch Will, who grinds into Alana and lets out a high, desperate sound, blue eyes flying open and skinny sides heaving. He is exquisite, and goes willingly when Hannibal tugs him down into a rough kiss that makes him groan again, so low it's almost a growl. Alana scratches Hannibal as hard as she can, and he shivers pleasantly. Will breaks their kiss, panting as he ruts into Alana a last few desperate times and then stays there, letting out a stricken cry as he comes. Alana moans, the sound jolting and then smoothing out as Will stops. He whimpers and lets her guide him to rest his head on her chest. 

Hannibal smiles at him, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes, and then looks up at Alana again, who drags him up to kiss him, one hand working furiously at her clit. Hannibal reaches down to join her, pushing a finger in alongside Will's cock and making him shudder and whine. Hannibal chuckles, crooking it just a little to stroke Will where he's so soft and oversensitive before pressing deeper and adding a second finger as Will slips out with a helpless little whimper.

Hannibal pushes deeper into Alana, thinking for the thousandth time that it's like a vastly better version of stuffing poultry. He would never say so, of course, but he can't help thinking it as her body opens to him. He savors her warmth and her slickness and the way she clenches around him as she comes, her cry muffled by Will's mouth on hers. Hannibal strokes her through it and then smiles down at both of them as she subsides, face partially hidden in Will's hair as she holds him close and they both struggle to catch their breath. Hannibal stretches out beside them, lazily licking the tangy-sweet human taste from his forefinger. Lying here now, it's strange to remember how terrified he had been at first.

“Lemme taste,” Will mutters, turning his face toward Hannibal and purring when Hannibal pushes his middle finger into his mouth. Will hums, eyes closing in contentment, and Alana smiles, slightly pink with pleased embarrassment.

“Am I good?” she coos, and Hannibal laughs.

“Delicious,” he says softly, leaning across Will to kiss her again. “I was just thinking how fortunate I am to have you both.”

“As are we to have you,” she says, kissing his cheek.

“So make us some breakfast,” Will mumbles around Hannibal's finger, and he laughs.

“Ungrateful boy, have I not already fed you on ambrosia?”

Will laughs, his eyes shining. “Yeah,” he says softly.

Hannibal smiles, kissing both of them on the forehead before getting up and going in search of a robe. He finds Will's before his own and wraps the red and blue plaid around himself. He knots the belt and gives Will and Alana each another kiss on his way to wash his hands. That done, he pads into the kitchen to see what's available to him this morning. There are a lot of nice, fresh eggs, and he begins to crack them into a bowl.

“Omelets!” he calls. “You have about fifteen minutes!” He gets no response, but doesn't expect one. By the time he's flipping the first omelet, Will is shuffling into the kitchen in the usual t-shirt and tiny shorts. They're practically fetish wear, bless his oblivious little heart, and Hannibal reminds himself to make another portrait soon. He comes close and gives Hannibal a bristly kiss on the cheek before drifting a few steps away to start coffee.

“Alana's brushing her hair, but she'll be along.”

“First one for you, then,” Hannibal says, transferring it to a plate. Will collects it with another kiss, and settles at the kitchen table to devour it in silence. By the time the coffee is done Alana has come to join them, and she pours for everyone with the assurance of the lady of the house.


	2. SIX MONTHS EARLIER

For all Will's grumbling about being a straight man in a gay common-law marriage, Hannibal knows that his friend is mostly content. He readily admits that he's eating better than he ever has in his life, and seems to take a certain pleasure in bringing Hannibal beautiful fresh fish to cook. They may bicker from time to time about his wardrobe and about the effects of dog hair on Hannibal's, but overall theirs is a very tranquil domestic establishment, and Hannibal is about as content as Will. He gets no kisses, but has worn Will down on the issue of cuddling.

After all, it's not as if Hannibal has a real ulterior motive. He enjoys holding Will, Will enjoys being held, and it's only as gay as it feels. Sometimes it does feel quite gay, but just because Hannibal is probably in love with Will and definitely wants to kiss him doesn't mean that sitting here with his straight friend in his arms is unpleasant. Will is one of those people who's smaller than he looks, skinny body curling into a tiny ball that fits so nicely against Hannibal as they sit on the couch and watch the terrible old black and white films that soothe them both.

If only they were actually compatible. Not only is Will heterosexual, but he's an intensely sexual person in general. He masturbates at least once a day, often twice, and can't always keep silent. The noises Hannibal hears are quiet ones, and they fascinate him. More than once he has listened through the wall between their bedrooms, his heart fluttering at every tiny whimper and soft, anguished moan. He really wishes he could watch, but even Hannibal's audacity has limits. There are things he has no idea how to ask for, and this is one of them.

Hannibal's hopeless longing is just a bittersweet punctuation to their life together. After all, he has almost everything he wants. He cooks for Will and adds to his wardrobe and takes care of him in ways that make their friends joke about him being Will's wife, and they spend most of their evenings together, Will nestled in Hannibal's arms no matter what they're doing, be it watching films, reading, or catching up on paperwork. It would be nice to kiss him, and to catalog all his various textures and shapes with curious hands, but it's hard to really long for a person when they're in his arms night after night, warm and solid and comfortable.

Will and Hannibal have been in this state of mostly-content equilibrium for a long time, and when it ends, Hannibal has no warning at all. He is in fact the instrument of his own destruction, on a bright May morning that begins so auspiciously, with a long hug from Will and a particularly beautiful breakfast. They have the same conversation they always do, gentle bickering about what each of them is wearing to work today and their plans for the evening, and Hannibal gives Will his packed lunch the way he does almost every day. They form their usual two-man carpool to work, and the first intimation Hannibal has that anything is going to change comes with a phone call between the one pm. end of an appointment and the two o'clock start of the next one, and he's actually happy about it.

“Alana,” he greets her, “it has been entirely too long.”

She laughs. “It's good to talk to you again, Hannibal. Would you believe we're in the same time zone again?”

They spend almost an hour catching up, and of course Hannibal extends a dinner invitation to his former student and dear friend, establishing herself in a cold apartment in a new city. Besides, her cooking was never very good. He has missed feeding her, and when she hangs up he texts Will to let him know, since he's currently in the middle of a lecture.

 _i thought the husband was supposed to bring home random people and irritate the wife_ Will sends back before the end of class. He's probably taking advantage of a pop quiz.

_She does not have to come if it irritates you, darling._

_and keep my wife from his friends? don't be ridiculous_

Hannibal laughs and replies with an emoji with hearts for eyes, and prepares for his next patient. Through all the remaining lulls in his afternoon, Hannibal ponders tonight's menu. By the time Will picks him up, he has some definite ideas, and by the time they get home, he can leap directly in the task, the dogs hovering hopefully nearby. They're too well-trained to get underfoot, but they live in the hope of accidents and generous impulses.

“Discipline has gone straight to hell around here,” Will grumbles, yanking at his tie and struggling out of his jacket in a way that always hurts to watch. Hannibal turns away again rather than subject himself to it.

“I am saving the trimmings for them,” Hannibal tells him, “they do not hope in vain.”

“Of course they aren't, they know you'll spoil them.”

“And yet,” Hannibal says, “they cause me no inconvenience. I wouldn't worry about anarchy quite yet.”

“It always starts small,” Will says, and Hannibal can hear all the little rustling sounds as he performs his usual ritual of stripping down to his t-shirt and boxer-briefs after a hard day of being a respectable adult. It's adorable, but Hannibal has seen it often enough not to mind missing this one. “So, who is this girl?” Will asks, and Hannibal laughs.

“Alana Bloom, a former student of mine. I think you'll like her.” Setting the meat in the skillet to get a good sear, he starts cutting mirepoix, speaking louder over the hissing. “She's a very kind person, and will know better than to prod you.”


	3. Chapter 3

The unease doesn't even begin until after the main course. Will is sprawled on the couch in the living room like the indolent savage that he is, and Alana is leaning on the kitchen counter and watching Hannibal assemble and plate dessert.

“How long did it take you to learn to make those?” she asks, watching him detach marzipan roses from parchment paper.

“Not so long,” he says, placing them on ganache-covered individual cakes. “They're not as complicated as they look.”

“Maybe I'm a little drunk,” Alana says (she is,) “but I have to ask: why _weren't_ we having an affair?”

Hannibal does his best not to grimace. He remembers Alana, so much younger and just as beautiful. She had already been very poised, even if she still hasn't learned to walk in heels. “Because I have professional boundaries,” he says without looking at her.

“Am I still on the same side of them?” she asks, and Hannibal wonders if he could persuade the floor to crevasse open just long enough for him to fall in and be crushed to death as it closes again. He had never come out to Alana because it hadn't been relevant, and isn't sure how to do so now.

“There are no longer any professional concerns, it's true,” he says, “but there are other types.”

“And you don't want to talk about it when you're trying to get us to appreciate these beautiful cakes,” Alana says, and Hannibal does look at her then, and smiles.

“Precisely, Alana.”

She helps him bring the dishes out, though he doesn't need it, and proceeds to charm Will within an inch of his life. It doesn't seem malicious, and that makes it all the more worrisome. Alana isn't just proving to herself that she is desirable, in a fit of drunken insecurity. This is genuine interest. And of course Will shares that interest. He isn't obvious about it, but Hannibal knows him too well to doubt the signs. He actually does make eye contact with her. Shy and glancing, but it's there. He wants to really see her, in controlled pulses like small sips of excellent wine. He can fake it when he has to, but his eyes take on a flat, icy quality then, and now they're like near-bottomless mountain lakes.

By the end of the night, Hannibal is a ball of jealous misery, and things do not improve for some time. Alana and Will quickly become involved, and Hannibal has to smell her sweet scent on Will almost every day. He keeps reminding himself that he has no business interfering, that two good people have found one another and that he should be glad. He's too old for them, anyway. Too old and too strange and he has to keep reminding himself to be mature about this, because none of the reminders seems to take. He can't even decide which of them he's more jealous of. Will is laughingly called his husband, which makes Alana the other woman, but one night the pair of them come in half-drunk and almost glowing, and when Alana leans into Will and he puts his arm around her waist, Hannibal has a sudden and vivid fantasy of cutting it off, succeeded immediately by visceral horror because of course he would never harm Will. He loves Will, and admires his beauty enough to spare him on aesthetic grounds alone.

Neither of them notice, and he is profoundly grateful for that. He makes them a snack, and leaves them alone together as much as he can, since a good friend does not cockblock. When they vanish into Will's room, he stays out in the kitchen and plays opera at high volumes. Nothing complete, just snippets and arias here and there, a patchwork of languages and time periods. He clatters pots and pans and finally gets around to cleaning his grandmother's copper cauldron with lemon and salt, and makes so much noise that he doesn't hear a thing. When he runs out of pots and pans, he takes the dogs for a walk, and by the time he gets back, everything is quiet.

In the morning, Hannibal makes breakfast for three and even manages to swallow some of it around the lump in his throat. He's surprised at himself. He had thought he was over this, but apparently not. Worse still, it's bad enough that Will notices. After Alana leaves, he comes sidling into the kitchen, looking concerned.

“Hey, Hannibal?”

“Yes?” Hannibal is washing the coffee cups by hand, because it gives him something to do.

“...Is it weird for you if I bring Alana here? Like, is she the little sister you never had, or something?”

Hannibal laughs, because feeling familial about Alana would, in some ways, be even worse now. “No,” he says. “The two I have are perfectly sufficient.”

“In that case, what's the problem?” Will asks. “I'd think you wanted her for yourself, but you've had more chances.”

“The number of chances is no indicator of success,” Hannibal says, not looking around. “And I find her much more charming now than I did in her youth. But I wouldn't say that's the problem.”

“No offense, but I kind of thought you were gay.”

“What I am is something that must be described with a great deal of jargon.”

“Then maybe you should try me before you wear a hole in that cup,” Will says, and Hannibal has to laugh, rinsing his victim at last and setting it aside.

“I suppose so,” he says, and sighs, drying his hands and rolling his sleeves back down. “Shall we adjourn to the couch?” Lately Hannibal has been sitting in the armchair the way he does when he and Will are having a spat, and the way Will perks up at his words makes him feel simultaneously guilty and relieved. They cuddle up on the couch together the way they always used to do, and Hannibal sighs as Will rests his head on his shoulder.


	4. Chapter 4

Hannibal loves holding Will. He's so solid, so warm. He squirms closer like a happy dog, and makes a nearly-inaudible sound of contentment that Hannibal wishes he could bottle. He sighs, breathing in Will's scent and trying to commit it all to memory.

“I've missed this,” Will says softly, and it's all Hannibal can do not to kiss the top of his head. Instead he hugs him a little more tightly. He'll miss this a lot when Will inevitably pulls away.

“I'm sorry that I have been... distant, Will,” he says, fighting the urge to give his friend an affectionate kiss on the head.

“At least you're admitting it now,” he says, clinging a little. Hannibal cradles him even closer, doing his best not to sigh audibly at the feel of Will's ribs against his palms, always prominent despite Hannibal's best efforts. “And you say I don't talk. What's up?”

Hannibal sighs. “The kind of orientation difficulties that everyone hopes to outgrow.”

“Lay it on me,” Will says, and Hannibal chuckles.

“Very well, then. I am asexual, but not aromantic or repulsed by sex.”

“So... you fall in love like anyone else and sex is a sometimes food that isn't your favorite at all?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“...So you're in love with Alana but figure she'd want too much sex?”

Hannibal chuckles. “Not exactly, Will.”

Will looks up at him, blinking those long eyelashes, guileless and with no clue of the effect he has on his old friend. Hannibal takes a deep breath, reminds himself to remember this forever, and then says, “I think that I'm in love with both of you.”

“...Uh...”

“I know you're straight, Will.”

“Yeah, but... you kinda are like my wife,” he mutters. “I mean, you take care of me, and I know you love me. I hate the thought of you feeling left out.”

Hannibal's heart starts pounding. “Then, are you saying...”

“I'm saying we should talk to Alana,” Will says.

Will makes the call and the invitation. He just says that Hannibal has something to talk to her about, and that she might as well join them for dinner. Hannibal, of course, spends the entire afternoon in the kitchen to cook one of Alana's favorite meals. Will ties flies, his hands very steady and his face a little pale with anxiety. Both of them nearly jump out of their skin when Alana knocks on the door, startling the dozy dogs into a flurry of barking. Will silences it with a disapproving noise and a sharp gesture, and Hannibal's heart melts all over again. He makes a few last adjustments, and then darts into his bedroom to comb his hair and to check that his shirt-sleeves are rolled up symmetrically and that just the right number of buttons of are undone. By the time he's reasonably sure he looks all right, Will is welcoming Alana inside. There's a pause that must be a kiss, and Hannibal shivers, going out to join them.

Alana is smiling, looking a little confused as she sips some of tonight's beautiful red wine. “Are we talking after dinner, or before?”

“Perhaps during?” Hannibal says. “I find that good food and wine keeps a discussion amicable.”

Alana chuckles. “If you say so, Hannibal.” She settles into her chair, Will doing the same, since kitchen help when the plan is this tight just annoys Hannibal. He plates everything quickly, zipping around the kitchen. He manages to serve with some dignity, however, and settles into his own seat to watch the others taste their dishes. He graciously accepts their compliments, and takes a long sip of his wine, trying to pretend that he's appreciating it rather than steadying his nerves.

“So,” he says, “Will and I had a very interesting conversation, and we felt that you should be apprised of it.”

“And?” she murmurs, sipping her wine without taking her eyes off of him.

Hannibal takes a deep breath, and tells her everything that he told Will. Halfway through it, Will takes Hannibal's hand under the table, squeezing it. The gesture helps a lot, as does Alana's patient receptivity. She doesn't interrupt, and takes in every word.

“Well,” she says when he is silent at last, “I would have no objection to letting you participate in our relationship. I hit on you first, as you may recall.”

Hannibal chuckles. “Fair enough. Will?”

“I...” he toys nervously with his glass, “I guess... I mean, the idea of kissing you isn't gross. I like cuddling you, and I love you a lot. I don't know how much you really want to do with me, but I guess I'm just bi enough to want to know.”

Hannibal chuckles, squeezing Will's hand. “What I have longed to do for years is simply to watch you masturbate, Will. Just to be in the room with you, to really hear you and smell and see what you look like as you climax.”

Will blushes, his eyes huge. “Oh.”

“That would be really hot,” Alana informs them, and takes a long draw from her glass. “Shall we try it?”

“But what about you?” Will asks, and she laughs.

“I'm a woman, Will. Watching you get off will get me so primed that finishing myself or with your hand or a toy will be easy.”

“I would not have any objection to assisting you,” Hannibal tells her. “You have a beautiful body and I'm sure I'll find it very pleasant to touch.”

“Sounds like a party,” Alana says, with a nervous giggle. Will brings his and Hannibal's joined hands to the tabletop, and reaches for Alana's. She laces their fingers together, and smiles at both of them.


	5. Chapter 5

Hannibal can't relax with a kitchen full of dirty dishes, but he and Will do the bare minimum to let Hannibal tear himself away. Dishes scraped, rinsed, and stacked, and all the leftovers put away. Alana takes their glasses and the wine to Will's bedroom, and by the time they join her, her hair is down and she's lounging on the bed, sipping wine by the warm, yellow light of the dim lamp on the nightstand. All the other lights are off, of course, and the effect really is lovely, especially for the low level of effort involved.

“I thought I would stay here with my clothes on,” Alana says, “and that Will could have the center of the bed. Do you want the other edge?”

“I think I would fit,” Hannibal says, taking Will's chair from his desk, “but I feel like I'll have a better view from here.” Will's bed is low and wide, and the chair gives Hannibal an excellent vantage point and Will plenty of room to sprawl, which he does, wriggling out of his clothes with no grace whatsoever. It's beautiful, and Alana's fond smile mirrors the one Hannibal can feel on his own face.

“After all this,” Will says, flinging his pants aside, “I sure hope I don't have whiskey dick.”

“If you do, Hannibal can watch you eat me out,” Alana says, and Hannibal beams.

“A delightful tableau, surely.”

“He loves it,” Alana says, and Will whimpers, blushing a charming shade of pink.

“I like the way you taste,” Will tells, her strangely shy for a man who's naked and half hard, sprawled on his own bed. Alana sighs, and kisses him deeply, stroking his hair with one hand. Seeing that fills Hannibal with craving, his old longing to kiss Will hitting him right in the gut. He _needs_ to taste Will, and is crawling onto the bed before he knows it. Will looks at him with wide eyes, and Hannibal trembles.

“Kiss me,” he says, and even he can't be sure if it's an order or a plea. It must not matter which, because Will cups Hannibal's face in both hands and kisses him like they do this every day, deep and soft and slow. Hannibal melts into it, tasting Will at long last, shivering at the burn of his stubble. He can't help a small moan of satisfaction, and Will groans, kissing him until he has to pull away to get his breath back.

“Fuck, Hannibal,” he pants, and Hannibal kisses him again, lingering until Alana's light laughter makes them look up.

“Well, you haven't got whiskey dick, anyway,” she tells Will, and he blushes again, laughing and glancing down at himself.

“That's most of the way, anyhow.”

“Why not show us how you close the remaining distance?” Hannibal coos, and Will chuckles, stretching out on his back and sighing.

“Well, when I'm going to take my time about it...” still blushing, he runs his hands over his chest, purring quietly as he explores himself for a moment before pinching both of his nipples, gently rolling them as his cock gives a lazy twitch, stiffening still further.

“He loves having them sucked on,” Alana tells Hannibal, and Will whines, squirming as clear slick beads up on the tip of his cock.

“He also seems to enjoy being talked about,” Hannibal says, captivated. Will is even more beautiful than Hannibal had imagined, and he commits each quiver and twitch to memory, along with the exact shades of pink every time Will flushes.

With an audience, Will makes no real attempt to quiet himself. He bites his lip from time to time, but always releases it with some sound. He moans quietly as he grips his cock, and only gets louder as he strokes himself, making high, breathy little noises between deep groans and happy growls, his free hand cupping his balls and then going up again to pinch one nipple, more and more restless as as the other one moves faster and faster. Will tips his head back and moans, hips rocking up into his hand as he digs his nails into the skin of his chest, his palm flat over his heart, as though to keep it inside.

Hannibal is mesmerized, and he can tell that Alana is watching in the same way. When he manages a glance at her, her eyes are bright and dilated, and her thighs are clamped together under her pencil skirt, shifting as she squirms, watching Will. Someday Hannibal will have to draw them like this, but for now he just turns his eyes back to Will, watching as his eyes roll back and he lets out the long groan, so low that it's almost a growl, a deep, primal sound of complete satisfaction as his eyes roll back in his head and he stripes his belly with semen. Alana kisses him, and he whimpers into her mouth as he shudders to a stop. Hannibal sighs, and then makes a small noise of surprised pleasure when Will turns to kiss him. He sighs, nibbling Will's lower lip.

“Now,” he murmurs, “shall we assist Alana?”

Will nods, breathless, and Hannibal helps Alana out of her clothes, Will's shaky hands doing their feeble best to assist. He's more of a hindrance than a help, but soon Alana is just as naked as Will, and ducks down to lick his belly clean, something that Hannibal finds beautiful and grotesque at the same time. Will whimpers again, stroking her hair and staring down at her. She has always been remarkably beautiful, and now she's radiant, stretching out beside Will and guiding his hand between her legs, rocking her hips until she shakes and cries out, a gorgeous, lost sound that Hannibal knows he wants to hear again and again. For now, he settles for tucking them both in as Will drowsily sucks his fingers clean, and pouring more wine for everyone.


End file.
